We ought to live too.

We’re reaching the edges of Sam’s Throne, and Logan’s eyes flick toward every home we pass with a white dash of paint on the door. Like she’s noting and marking them.

Personally, I’d rather avoid them all. The plague is real in Hope, but it’s overwhelming here. It’s everywhere. And this side of Sam’s Throne might well be a ghost town. Though whether it’s died out or abandoned, I don’t know.

On the other hand…there might be food here. “Can you mark the homes we passed on a map?” I ask, so quietly, I’m not sure Logan could even hear me.

After a while, she nods.

And something of the heaviness returns.

* * *

We pause again once we’re off the mountain path and past the abandoned truck, where dusk creeps in. We sit in the fallen leaves between the oak trees, and my stomach is growling. Logan sorts through her backpack and tosses me the hand sanitizer after she’s used it herself. She takes off her mask and pulls up a box of cereal. It looks like some kind of off-brand frosted Cheerios.

She tears open the box further and holds it out to me. I cup my hands, and she pours the cereal in them like gold coins. It feels as precious. I take the first tiny grain circle and let it melt on my tongue. It’s stale and sweet, and I might be crying.

Logan munches down an entire handful of Cheerios all at once.

And then she laughs.

Her laugh is warm and bright and full of crumbs.

She reaches her fingers up to the corners of her mouth in wonderment.

We eat with handfuls at a time, but it doesn’t take long before we both slow. We have to be careful with what we have—and save it for the others too. Logan’s food will give us all a few days of variety. It will give us time.

“I’m sorry for calling you special back there,” I say softly, before we get up to make our way back home. It’s been weighing on me. “I know you don’t like it, and it isn’t an excuse, but I needed a story. I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t feel threatened by us.”

Logan packs the box away in her backpack and bites her lip. She gestures at the cans and the other spoils of her trip with an almost apologetic wince.

I don’t have to guess at what she’s saying. “It worked, and I’m glad. We both made it work. But I also think it hurt you, and I’m sorry about that. I should’ve thought of something else.”

Logan stills and considers it. Then she nods. The corner of her mouth pulls up into a lopsided grin, and I want nothing more than to know what she’s thinking. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it, and I smile too.

“When we get back, please teach me—and all of us who want—more signs? We have to find better ways to communicate.”